The Passion of David Lynch: Wild at Heart in Hollywood by Martha P. NochimsonReview by: J. P. TelotteFilm Quarterly, Vol. 52, No. 3 (Spring, 1999), pp. 61-62Published by: University of California PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1213832 .

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However, this is a subject that calls for detailed considera- tion of more examples.

The three key essays in Part Three are those by Chris- tine Gledhill, Christine Geraghty, and Tessa Perkins. Although dealing with different topics, they all argue against the blan- ket acceptance of, as Gledhill puts it, the "transgressive" na- ture of Gainsborough melodramas. They suggest a more complex examination of these films against relevant cultural and historical discourses. As does her welcome reexamina- tions of once-canonical "articles of faith" in cinema studies, Gledhill's essay on documentary, melodrama, and romance takes issue with the supposedly transgressive qualities of Gainsborough melodrama, suggesting that "despite the ef- forts of the intelligentsia to maintain a distinction, the rela- tionship between the home front films and Gainsborough melodrama is closer than might first appear" (214). Appar- ently separate cinematic discourses such as documentary, melodrama, and romance are more related than they appear at first sight, especially in terms of "the negotiation of aes- thetic and class codes" (215). Geraghty's essay on the ne- gotiation of nationality and femininity in Went the Day Well? (1942), The Silver Fleet, and The Yellow Canary (both 1943) supports Gledhill's observations on the complex way in which wartime films acknowledged and then reworked female ex- periences. Finally, Tessa Perkins concludes the anthology ap- propriately with her insights into how various films, among them The Wicked Lady, The Seventh Veil (both 1945), The Lovers of Joanna Godden (1947), and The Red Shoes (1948), indirectly deal with issues concerning male as well as female postwar adjustment problems.

Nationalising Femininity is a worthy anthology sug- gesting new areas of study and as well as reconsiderations of recent approaches to a national cinema once believed insignificant and devoid of academic interest.

Tony Williams teaches in the English Department at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale.

The Passion of David Lynch Wild at Heart in Hollywood By Martha P. Nochimson. Austin,TX: University of Texas Press, 1998. $40.00 cloth; $19.95 paper.

Early in her overview of David Lynch's work, Martha Nochimson forecasts the main direction of her commentary, as she notes that "letting go is the form and substance of the Lynch narrative" (11). That notion of "letting go" is a key one for this book, referring not only to what Nochimson sees as the filmmaker's central concern but also to both what the author herself had to do after she began her investigation and what many readers might have to do in order to fully ap- preciate her book's significance. As Nochimson offers, after starting into a series of interviews with Lynch and revisiting all of his work, she found she had to discard her tendency to see him as but one of a number of postmodern cinematic fig-

However, this is a subject that calls for detailed considera- tion of more examples.

The three key essays in Part Three are those by Chris- tine Gledhill, Christine Geraghty, and Tessa Perkins. Although dealing with different topics, they all argue against the blan- ket acceptance of, as Gledhill puts it, the "transgressive" na- ture of Gainsborough melodramas. They suggest a more complex examination of these films against relevant cultural and historical discourses. As does her welcome reexamina- tions of once-canonical "articles of faith" in cinema studies, Gledhill's essay on documentary, melodrama, and romance takes issue with the supposedly transgressive qualities of Gainsborough melodrama, suggesting that "despite the ef- forts of the intelligentsia to maintain a distinction, the rela- tionship between the home front films and Gainsborough melodrama is closer than might first appear" (214). Appar- ently separate cinematic discourses such as documentary, melodrama, and romance are more related than they appear at first sight, especially in terms of "the negotiation of aes- thetic and class codes" (215). Geraghty's essay on the ne- gotiation of nationality and femininity in Went the Day Well? (1942), The Silver Fleet, and The Yellow Canary (both 1943) supports Gledhill's observations on the complex way in which wartime films acknowledged and then reworked female ex- periences. Finally, Tessa Perkins concludes the anthology ap- propriately with her insights into how various films, among them The Wicked Lady, The Seventh Veil (both 1945), The Lovers of Joanna Godden (1947), and The Red Shoes (1948), indirectly deal with issues concerning male as well as female postwar adjustment problems.

Nationalising Femininity is a worthy anthology sug- gesting new areas of study and as well as reconsiderations of recent approaches to a national cinema once believed insignificant and devoid of academic interest.

Tony Williams teaches in the English Department at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale.

The Passion of David Lynch Wild at Heart in Hollywood By Martha P. Nochimson. Austin,TX: University of Texas Press, 1998. $40.00 cloth; $19.95 paper.

Early in her overview of David Lynch's work, Martha Nochimson forecasts the main direction of her commentary, as she notes that "letting go is the form and substance of the Lynch narrative" (11). That notion of "letting go" is a key one for this book, referring not only to what Nochimson sees as the filmmaker's central concern but also to both what the author herself had to do after she began her investigation and what many readers might have to do in order to fully ap- preciate her book's significance. As Nochimson offers, after starting into a series of interviews with Lynch and revisiting all of his work, she found she had to discard her tendency to see him as but one of a number of postmodern cinematic fig-

ures obsessessed with "the labyrinthine self-referentiality of narrative" (2), to put aside her preconceived notions about gender representation in his films, and to let go too of a ten- dency to read his works in a context of conventional realist representation. Since that letting-go of preconceptions al- lowed her to understand and, in her own words, be "moved by" what Lynch is up to, she also found "great pleasure here" (194). Significantly, it is a great pleasure that Nochimson generally helps her readers to feel as well.

Yet readers of The Passion of David Lynch must also be ready to let go to some extent, for this study does rattle a few critical cages. This book is, of course, an auteur study, and the author, as we have all heard, is quite dead, auteur stud- ies outmoded. However, Nochimson convincingly manages to resuscitate both figure and practice in her work on Lynch, even drawing heavily on what some would dismiss as un- reliable information-the director's own comments on his films, television work, and painting. And in carefully con- structing her reading of Lynch's films, she often finds her views at odds with what many contemporary critics have of- fered. For example, in responding to Fredric Jameson's Marx- ist reading of Lynch, which treats his work as parodistic in intent, Nochimson notes that it is "exceptionally misdirected" and replies to Jameson's frustration at not finding "some civic concern on Lynch's part" by asking her readers, "What is to be said about such a reduced concept of ethics?" (235). While she also goes against critical fashion in her repeated references to Lynch's narratives as "organic" narrative and their ability to tap the "collective unconscious," Nochimson is hardly trying to turn back the clock on film criticism. Rather, she seems to be following Lynch's own lead, particularly his call for making oneself open and receptive, in this instance to a variety of critical stances, in order to grasp the reality of the subject at hand. Thus, Nochimson deftly deploys a mix- ture of feminist criticism, the Bakhtinian notion of the car- nivalesque, and an intriguing blend of Jungian and Freudian concepts (Lynch, she says, often speaks of the "collective subconscious") to make one of our most complex filmmak- ers seem quite accessible after all.

Nochimson begins her critical task in a rather conven- tional yet ultimately necessary way, by filling in the little- known background on Lynch, laying out the various career steps that have led up to his feature films and the popular tele- vision series Twin Peaks. Particularly, she takes us back to his work as a young art student and explores his acknowl- edged indebtedness to the painters Robert Henri, Francis Bacon, Jackson Pollock, and Edward Hopper. From them, she suggests, he learned not only how to compose his frame but, more importantly, how to use images in order to "tell sto- ries in the special way that we have come to associate with him" (16). That special way involves drawing on the sub- conscious power of images and then employing them in a narrative framework which challenges yet still manages to fit within the confines of Hollywood filmmaking. It is an ap- proach to narrative that Nochimson likens to the work of Orson Welles and Alfred Hitchcock, and whose development she traces through Lynch's student films-Six Men Getting Sick (1967), The Alphabet (1967), and The Grandmother

ures obsessessed with "the labyrinthine self-referentiality of narrative" (2), to put aside her preconceived notions about gender representation in his films, and to let go too of a ten- dency to read his works in a context of conventional realist representation. Since that letting-go of preconceptions al- lowed her to understand and, in her own words, be "moved by" what Lynch is up to, she also found "great pleasure here" (194). Significantly, it is a great pleasure that Nochimson generally helps her readers to feel as well.

Yet readers of The Passion of David Lynch must also be ready to let go to some extent, for this study does rattle a few critical cages. This book is, of course, an auteur study, and the author, as we have all heard, is quite dead, auteur stud- ies outmoded. However, Nochimson convincingly manages to resuscitate both figure and practice in her work on Lynch, even drawing heavily on what some would dismiss as un- reliable information-the director's own comments on his films, television work, and painting. And in carefully con- structing her reading of Lynch's films, she often finds her views at odds with what many contemporary critics have of- fered. For example, in responding to Fredric Jameson's Marx- ist reading of Lynch, which treats his work as parodistic in intent, Nochimson notes that it is "exceptionally misdirected" and replies to Jameson's frustration at not finding "some civic concern on Lynch's part" by asking her readers, "What is to be said about such a reduced concept of ethics?" (235). While she also goes against critical fashion in her repeated references to Lynch's narratives as "organic" narrative and their ability to tap the "collective unconscious," Nochimson is hardly trying to turn back the clock on film criticism. Rather, she seems to be following Lynch's own lead, particularly his call for making oneself open and receptive, in this instance to a variety of critical stances, in order to grasp the reality of the subject at hand. Thus, Nochimson deftly deploys a mix- ture of feminist criticism, the Bakhtinian notion of the car- nivalesque, and an intriguing blend of Jungian and Freudian concepts (Lynch, she says, often speaks of the "collective subconscious") to make one of our most complex filmmak- ers seem quite accessible after all.

Nochimson begins her critical task in a rather conven- tional yet ultimately necessary way, by filling in the little- known background on Lynch, laying out the various career steps that have led up to his feature films and the popular tele- vision series Twin Peaks. Particularly, she takes us back to his work as a young art student and explores his acknowl- edged indebtedness to the painters Robert Henri, Francis Bacon, Jackson Pollock, and Edward Hopper. From them, she suggests, he learned not only how to compose his frame but, more importantly, how to use images in order to "tell sto- ries in the special way that we have come to associate with him" (16). That special way involves drawing on the sub- conscious power of images and then employing them in a narrative framework which challenges yet still manages to fit within the confines of Hollywood filmmaking. It is an ap- proach to narrative that Nochimson likens to the work of Orson Welles and Alfred Hitchcock, and whose development she traces through Lynch's student films-Six Men Getting Sick (1967), The Alphabet (1967), and The Grandmother

61 61

This content downloaded from 200.26.133.138 on Fri, 6 Dec 2013 19:36:19 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

(1970)-his own photography and painting, and his video- taped performance piece Industrial Symphony No. 1: The Dream of the Broken Hearted (1989). She then effectively brings this perspective to bear on his various features and television work, including the film that first established his cult status, Eraserhead (1970), and the re-released Twin Peaks episodes with added prologues. Simply bringing together this varied work, much of it generally inaccessible, and com- bining it with Lynch's own comments on his early develop- ment as an artist and filmmaker make this book a valuable addition to our studies of contemporary film and filmmakers.

The Passion of David Lynch, though, is ultimately less about narrative style and development than about "passion," that is, about what moves this filmmaker and moves pow- erfully through all of his films. Nochimson suggests that Lynch tries "to make film narrative a subconscious bridge to real perceptions of life" (13)-perceptions that we are typ- ically blinded to or lured away from by the very nature of modern culture. The common lessons of that culture, she says, are ones of force, control, willfulness, and violence, all elements usually emphasized in Hollywood narrative and fundamental to its typical vision "of the hero as one who takes control by means of violent domination strategies" (11). She illustrates how Lynch's work, often focusing on "seeker/protagonists" such as the amateur detective Jeffrey of Blue Velvet and FBI agent Dale Cooper of Twin Peaks, opens onto the possibility of another set of values, ones in- volving receptivity, passivity, and "much that is associated with women's wisdom" (13). In fact, by demonstrating how Lynch's characters find knowledge by abandoning willful- ness or achieve a level of wholeness by coming to accept what the culture might deem feminine characteristics, Nochimson effectively counters charges that his work at times seems misogynistic. And while admitting that, despite the critical and popular successes of such works as The Elephant Man, Blue Velvet, and Twin Peaks, Lynch's sense of the "real world has not achieved full integration with the popular idiom" (204), she argues convincingly for the way "the truth of the dream" (17) in his films speaks to us.

While Nochimson's book deserves high praise for both its critical courage and its consistent insights, it is not with- out its faults-and irritations for the reader. Too much of the extant criticism, such as David Lavery's fine collection of essays on Twin Peaks and Kenneth Kaleta's study of Lynch, receives little more than bibliographic citation. And at times Nochimson belabors her points and, less often, seems as opaque as much of Lynch's work has been described. The former problem follows from the author's tendency to offer far too much plot summary and repetitive commentary. How- ever, while this approach proves a bit irritating, it is certainly useful for those who are unfamiliar with the director's films and it has further justification in her desire to suggest the ex- tent to which all of these creations, including Lynch's gen- erally inaccessible student films, work through the same essential themes and in fundamentally similar ways. The book is also a bit given to ponderous rhetoric, something that a good copyediting should have cleared up. Certainly, Nochimson's description of a scene in Wild at Heart, in which

(1970)-his own photography and painting, and his video- taped performance piece Industrial Symphony No. 1: The Dream of the Broken Hearted (1989). She then effectively brings this perspective to bear on his various features and television work, including the film that first established his cult status, Eraserhead (1970), and the re-released Twin Peaks episodes with added prologues. Simply bringing together this varied work, much of it generally inaccessible, and com- bining it with Lynch's own comments on his early develop- ment as an artist and filmmaker make this book a valuable addition to our studies of contemporary film and filmmakers.

The Passion of David Lynch, though, is ultimately less about narrative style and development than about "passion," that is, about what moves this filmmaker and moves pow- erfully through all of his films. Nochimson suggests that Lynch tries "to make film narrative a subconscious bridge to real perceptions of life" (13)-perceptions that we are typ- ically blinded to or lured away from by the very nature of modern culture. The common lessons of that culture, she says, are ones of force, control, willfulness, and violence, all elements usually emphasized in Hollywood narrative and fundamental to its typical vision "of the hero as one who takes control by means of violent domination strategies" (11). She illustrates how Lynch's work, often focusing on "seeker/protagonists" such as the amateur detective Jeffrey of Blue Velvet and FBI agent Dale Cooper of Twin Peaks, opens onto the possibility of another set of values, ones in- volving receptivity, passivity, and "much that is associated with women's wisdom" (13). In fact, by demonstrating how Lynch's characters find knowledge by abandoning willful- ness or achieve a level of wholeness by coming to accept what the culture might deem feminine characteristics, Nochimson effectively counters charges that his work at times seems misogynistic. And while admitting that, despite the critical and popular successes of such works as The Elephant Man, Blue Velvet, and Twin Peaks, Lynch's sense of the "real world has not achieved full integration with the popular idiom" (204), she argues convincingly for the way "the truth of the dream" (17) in his films speaks to us.

While Nochimson's book deserves high praise for both its critical courage and its consistent insights, it is not with- out its faults-and irritations for the reader. Too much of the extant criticism, such as David Lavery's fine collection of essays on Twin Peaks and Kenneth Kaleta's study of Lynch, receives little more than bibliographic citation. And at times Nochimson belabors her points and, less often, seems as opaque as much of Lynch's work has been described. The former problem follows from the author's tendency to offer far too much plot summary and repetitive commentary. How- ever, while this approach proves a bit irritating, it is certainly useful for those who are unfamiliar with the director's films and it has further justification in her desire to suggest the ex- tent to which all of these creations, including Lynch's gen- erally inaccessible student films, work through the same essential themes and in fundamentally similar ways. The book is also a bit given to ponderous rhetoric, something that a good copyediting should have cleared up. Certainly, Nochimson's description of a scene in Wild at Heart, in which

she says that "Juana's masturbatory sexual gratification as Reggie pulls the trigger of the gun pointing at Johnnie-and the spectator-is the film's palpably sickening rejection of the uselessness and depravity of the coercive pseudoerotics of the will-to-control" (61-62), manages less to clear up the mysteries of this narrative than to plunge us into the author's own mysterious "Red Room" of interpretation. Yet happily, The Passion of David Lynch is very seldom jar- gon-laden in the manner of so much contemporary criticism, and convoluted comments such as the one cited above are not the norm for a text that never flinches from facing the most difficult of material.

And that unflinching gaze, the determination to take readers into the passion of Lynch's work, is the real payoff of this study. If Nochimson a bit obviously overstates her case at times-asserting, for example, that "David Lynch has changed Hollywood" (199)-she nevertheless makes a good case for his status as one of the most original and impor- tant voices in Hollywood, in fact, for his almost singular abil- ity to wed a highly symbolic and idiosyncratic vision with some semblance of the transparent realism American audi- ences expect from Hollywood narratives. Her book seems a genuine work of passion itself, one that, in helping us rec- ognize what she terms "the humanizing potential of popular culture" (45) as embodied in Lynch's films, serves both its readers and its subject quite well.

J.P.Telotte teaches at the Georgia Institute ofTechnology.

Storage Guide for Color Photographic Materials By James M. Reilly. Albany, NY: University of the State of New York, 1998. $20.00.

Color fading is one of the most heartbreaking signs of the impermanence of the motion picture medium. Few things in cinema are sadder than a once-glorious color film turned monochromatic pink or red. As color goes, contrast too is lost, and the degraded images that result are not even fugi- tive cousins of their original state.

In the early 80s, Eastman Kodak developed low-fade stocks with more stable dyes, but pre-80s chromogenic color films are all subject to rather rapid fading. Chromogenic films are those whose color dyes are formed in the print during processing, and these comprise the vast majority of color print and motion picture materials. Given the problem of color fading, the issue faced by archivists, librarians, film collectors, and everyday consumers is how to slow this in- evitable process. An essential reference source in the battle against color fading is now available.

James M. Reilly's Storage Guide is an invaluable re- source for the preservation and collection community as well as for anyone with color picture material, like old photos or home movies, who wishes to extend its color life. This handy, 48-page guide explains in clear terms the chemical alterations that trigger fading, the environmental condi-

she says that "Juana's masturbatory sexual gratification as Reggie pulls the trigger of the gun pointing at Johnnie-and the spectator-is the film's palpably sickening rejection of the uselessness and depravity of the coercive pseudoerotics of the will-to-control" (61-62), manages less to clear up the mysteries of this narrative than to plunge us into the author's own mysterious "Red Room" of interpretation. Yet happily, The Passion of David Lynch is very seldom jar- gon-laden in the manner of so much contemporary criticism, and convoluted comments such as the one cited above are not the norm for a text that never flinches from facing the most difficult of material.

And that unflinching gaze, the determination to take readers into the passion of Lynch's work, is the real payoff of this study. If Nochimson a bit obviously overstates her case at times-asserting, for example, that "David Lynch has changed Hollywood" (199)-she nevertheless makes a good case for his status as one of the most original and impor- tant voices in Hollywood, in fact, for his almost singular abil- ity to wed a highly symbolic and idiosyncratic vision with some semblance of the transparent realism American audi- ences expect from Hollywood narratives. Her book seems a genuine work of passion itself, one that, in helping us rec- ognize what she terms "the humanizing potential of popular culture" (45) as embodied in Lynch's films, serves both its readers and its subject quite well.

J.P.Telotte teaches at the Georgia Institute ofTechnology.

Storage Guide for Color Photographic Materials By James M. Reilly. Albany, NY: University of the State of New York, 1998. $20.00.

Color fading is one of the most heartbreaking signs of the impermanence of the motion picture medium. Few things in cinema are sadder than a once-glorious color film turned monochromatic pink or red. As color goes, contrast too is lost, and the degraded images that result are not even fugi- tive cousins of their original state.

In the early 80s, Eastman Kodak developed low-fade stocks with more stable dyes, but pre-80s chromogenic color films are all subject to rather rapid fading. Chromogenic films are those whose color dyes are formed in the print during processing, and these comprise the vast majority of color print and motion picture materials. Given the problem of color fading, the issue faced by archivists, librarians, film collectors, and everyday consumers is how to slow this in- evitable process. An essential reference source in the battle against color fading is now available.

James M. Reilly's Storage Guide is an invaluable re- source for the preservation and collection community as well as for anyone with color picture material, like old photos or home movies, who wishes to extend its color life. This handy, 48-page guide explains in clear terms the chemical alterations that trigger fading, the environmental condi-

62 62

This content downloaded from 200.26.133.138 on Fri, 6 Dec 2013 19:36:19 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions